


If I Had A Song

by orphan_account



Category: Firewatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dave/Ron, M/M, in a small little way, poor Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's evening in Wyoming, and Ron has a guitar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Had A Song

Sunsets were always something to behold in Wyoming. The fading sun lit up the bare rock faces like nothing else – the place just glowed, all the browns turning gold and the reds turning redder. It smelled of dust and warmth and, for those last ten minutes of sunshine, there just wasn't any place for confusion in your mind. It was refreshing.

 

The insects were buzzing loud, as they often did in the fading light, but not quite loud enough to cover up the distant strumming of a guitar. Which could only mean one thing, really.

 

Dave turned away from the view he'd been taking in, slung his pack over a shoulder, and began walking down a small, but very familiar trail. It got darker and darker as he walked, the landscape rapidly fading into shades of blue and grey – making the yellow light of the propane lantern he was approaching stand out all the more.

 

“Sounds good, man. Croce, right?”

 

Ron, who was sitting in an old lawn chair and strumming at an old guitar, turned to face him and grinned sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. I take it you noticed...”

 

“ – that you stole my cassette?”

 

“Well, 'borrowed', but yeah. Sorry.” He flashed a bright grin, and gestured to a couple bottles on the make-shift table nearby. “But, hey, I brought you some of that Fyfe's stuff – so we good?”

 

Dave rolled his eyes, but couldn't help a smile of his own. “Yeah, sure.” He grabbed the open bottle and made to take a swig.

 

“Hey, hold up!” Ron leaned forward and snatched the bottle from his hand. “You've got your own.”

 

“What, you're gonna drink that whole bottle yourself?”

 

“Hell yeah, I am.” Ron beamed, and, even in the dim lamplight, Dave could see that his face was already a little flushed from the alcohol. Not drunk, but definitely buzzed. “Gonna get well and truly shit-faced, tonight.”

 

Dave scoffed a little. “Any occasion?”

 

“Nope.” He leaned back in his chair. “Just enjoyin' myself. Gotta get those vices in somehow, out here.”

 

Dave picked up the other bottle, popped it open, and mockingly raised it in salute. “Hear, hear.” He stepped over to the other lawn chair and sank into it, taking a swig. For a while, they sat in silence, just drinking. “You stopping?” Dave finally asked. At Ron's confused look, he gestured to the guitar he was still holding.

 

“Oh.” He shrugged, set his bottle down and began strumming.  Dave leaned back, took a drink.

 

It was nice.

 

The air was starting to cool down. The lamp burned and flickered, casting warm light around the clearing.  It danced across the pine boughs overhead. Dave let his eyes drift closed for a moment, just listening to the guitar and the noises of the night around them.

 

The music stopped very suddenly, Ron slamming the strings silent with a percussive _thud_. Dave  sat up sharply and looked over at him. “What's up?”

 

Ron smiled that bright smile of his.  “Hey – didn't I promise to teach you a song or two a while back?”

 

“What... now?” Dave frowned. Really, sipping on a bottle of Fyfe's and listening to Ron seemed like a perfectly good evening to him – relaxing. Peaceful.

 

“It's as good a time as any.” Ron stood up and held the guitar out. Dave took it hesitantly. “And, hey – want to learn a Croce song? I've been working on a few – that was a great tape, you know – and I bet you could manage 'em!”

 

“Uh... okay, then.” Dave set down his bottle, and moved forward in his seat, trying to position his hands on the guitar. It was a lot bigger and boxier than he'd anticipated, and he wasn't having much success. “So... what song were you thinking of?”

 

“Well, you oughta learn something useful, to start out with. I mean, if you can only play a couple songs, they'd better be the right ones. So, that in mind...” He fanned his hands out in front of him dramatically. “You're gonna learn 'I'll Have To Say I Love You In a Song'.”

 

Dave,  awkwardly  clutching the guitar, couldn't exactly cross his arms, but  hoped that Ron  could see his scowl clear enough .  “No.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“You're kidding, right?”

 

“Not at all.” Ron crouched down to Dave's eye level, giving him a steady look. Dave froze. “Look, I know you're not big on all that debonair stuff, amigo, but I swear – ladies dig the hell out of shit like this.” He cocked his head just slightly to the side. “Minimal effort, maximum effect.”

 

Dave had to swallow before answering, his throat was a bit tight.  “ Good for them.”

 

Ron  scowled  back  at him, playfully . “Hey, don't give me that. You like Croce, don't you? It's a pretty good song!”

 

Dave didn't like it when Ron frowned, even in jest, like this. The guy's face was just made for wide, shit-eating grins or smirks or...  a nything up-turned, really.  With a martyred sigh, he relented. “Okay, fine. A song's a song.”

 

Ron's grin returned, with a triumphant edge. “That it is! Well, it starts easy enough – an 'A' chord. To do that, you just put your fingers...” He stood up and moved behind Dave, tapping his fingers against the neck of the guitar. “...here, here, and here.” Dave tried to position his hand correctly, and with a little bit of help, he got an approving nod from Ron. “Yeah, like that. Now, go ahead and strum.”

 

He pulled his right hand down over the strings. A weak, jangled sound sputtered out of the guitar, dying almost as soon as it began.

 

“Hey, not bad.”

 

Dave turned around to glance at Ron. “It sounded like shit.”

 

Ron shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, but it was the right notes, at least.” He clapped Dave on the back. “It's just gonna sound like complete shit for a couple weeks. Anyway, try again!”

 

This time, most of the strings just buzzed weakly. Dave bit back a frustrated sigh.

 

“Okay – you just need to press down the strings a bit harder.”

 

Dave's fingers were already a little sore from pressing into the sharp pieces of wire, but he tried to force them down a little bit more. This time, when he strummed, it almost sounded like notes.

 

“Yeah, like that! Okay, this next chord...” he paused a moment, frowning. “It's... uh, it's a bar chord. Like, C# or something.”

 

Dave looked back at him again. “Is that hard? Look, man, I just barely got 'A'.”

 

Ron seemed a little doubtful, himself. “Yeah...” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, man. I guess I was wrong. Maybe we should work up to that one.” He looked down for a moment, clearly thinking. Finally he looked up again, face hopeful. “Hey – you know 'Sunshine On My Shoulders'?”

 

Dave nodded. “Yeah. John Denver.”

 

Ron clapped his hands together. “Great. I don't think that one's got any bar chords...” He ran a hand through his hair, again. “...well, not in the chorus, anyway. It starts with 'G'.”

 

He helped Dave move his fingers to the right place, hands ghosting over Dave's. Dave pressed the strings down, trying to focus solely on the sharp wires cutting into his fingers. The chord sounded... okay. He thought it might be a little easier than the other one had been. “Yeah, good,” Ron affirmed, brightly. “Now, this is a 'C', like this.”

 

Dave spent a few minutes going back and forth between the two chords, until his fingers were too sore to hold the strings down. “Well, I think that's about it for me, tonight,” he said, finally, after the fifth buzzing chord in a row. “Thanks, though.”

 

Ron took the guitar back. “Sorry you didn't get a whole song down,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

 

Dave took a swig of Fyfe's. “Nah, it's alright. I had a good time.” He had.

 

Ron smiled. “If you want to get the rest of that song down, we could try again sometime.”

 

Dave nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Another swig, then silence. Finally, he said, “Hey, do you want to play something?” He gave Ron a smile. “Remind me of what good guitar sounds like?”

 

Ron laughed. “You'll get there, amigo.” He started strumming, chords rolling off naturally and easily.

 

Dave sat back in his chair, listening. His eyes drifted closed, and he exhaled softly. “Thanks, man,” he said, almost an afterthought.

 

He didn't look up, but he could almost hear Ron's self assured smile as he responded, “No problem. We'll make a Casanova out of you yet, eh?”

 

Dave chuckled softly. “Sure you will.”

 

By now, night had set in almost entirely. The shadows were deep and grey, with yellow lantern light barely stretching to the edge of the small clearing. Ron's guitar was, perhaps, the loudest noise in the night, but it didn't even come close to covering up the chirping of the cicadas, or the brief, high whines of the bats overheat, or any other sound of the Shoshone night.

 

It was all comforting, in that way things are when they're doomed to end. Temporary, but, in that moment, perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> It was fun trying to write these two characters, considering all we hear about them in canon is from six short-ish letters and a couple off-hand remarks from someone who didn't really know them very well.
> 
> For the record, I see Ron as a very Dickie Greenleaf kinda guy. Friendly and charismatic, but irresponsible and changeable. "It's like the sun shines on you, and it's glorious. And then he forgets you and it's very, very cold."


End file.
